


Catch Me

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Human Castiel, Hunting, M/M, Scars, Slow Build, the bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: Cas gives up Heaven for the last time and learns how to be a person.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime in season nine

“He’s human,” Dean said quietly.

 

Sam joined him in the doorway to the kitchen, watching Castiel slowly lift a spoonful of chicken soup to his lips, like he didn’t know how. It wasn’t the first time Castiel had had to eat anything. It wasn’t even the first time he had been _human._ But there was something different now. He no longer had even a tenuous connection to Heaven, and there was no getting his grace back this time. He had truly Fallen this time, because the other choice had been to return to Heaven and never return to Earth for the rest of his existence, even unseen. He had caused too much damage, had assisted humanity in ways that the Host was not meant to, and his punishment was to leave it forever or never to return home. Sam and Dean were there when he faced the stern expressions of his brothers and sisters, when he looked Hannah in the eye and said, “I’m staying here.” The air crackled around him and rippled violently, until Castiel cried out and collapsed. Dean could see the outline of wings as blue-white fire flared, and then the angels were gone and the three of them were alone. For the first time since they had met Castiel, every one of them was nothing more than human.

 

Dean had rushed forward the second the angels were gone, reaching out to pull Cas to his feet, but he was brushed away. Castiel wasn’t looking at him, didn’t respond when Sam softly said his name. He walked away, much like he had all those years ago before he trusted them, trusted _Dean,_ and only turned back to shove Dean away when he tried to follow. The darkness swallowed him up, leaving nothing in his wake.

 

It was nearly a week before Cas turned up at the bunker, clothes torn and skin covered in a fine layer of grime anywhere it showed through. Dean was ready to yell at him until he realized that Castiel had the trench coat balled up in his hands, eyes lowered to it sadly. “Cas,” Dean murmured, stretching a hand out to—he didn’t even know, hug him maybe—but the angel—human—pulled back just enough so that his hand only fell through the air between them.

 

“I need new clothes. And a shower.” It was Sam who guided Castiel to the bathroom and set him up with a pair of Dean’s old sweatpants and an ancient Stanford hoodie. Dean couldn’t do anything but look on and try not to feel horribly guilty for being the reason that Cas needed those things.

 

“It isn’t your fault.” He could feel Sam looking staring at him sideways, but he didn’t look back. “Cas didn’t do this because of you.”

 

“That’s exactly why he did it.” Dean turned away. “He’s got a goddamn room here, Sam. He’s only been here for so long because we gave him a fucked up idea of what family is. _They’re_ supposed to be his family.”

 

Sam cast a look back at Castiel before following. “What a family they are, to kick him out like that,” he argued. “He was a soldier to them, Dean. We taught him that there’s more than that!”

 

“Oh right, sure. Let’s see, we’ve made him send us back in time twice, he rebelled against Heaven for us, exploded _twice_ fighting on our side, got trapped in Purgatory, was mind-controlled because he associated with us, lost his grace _again,_ this time permanently, not to mention all the other shit that I can’t even think of right now!” He didn’t wait for a response, stalking off and slamming his own bedroom door shut. Sam could think what he wanted, but Dean knew that this was on him. He kicked uselessly at a pillow that had fallen off of his bed and then flopped down, suddenly exhausted. He hated that Castiel had gone missing, and hated even more that Dean hadn’t been able to stop him from walking away.

 

 

 

 

Cas wasn’t sleeping.

 

It wasn’t because he was trying not to. Dean checked in on him in the middle of the night sometimes, peering through the partly open door to see Cas stretched out under the blankets on his side, or his back, or his stomach. His eyes were closed, but he was unnaturally still, his breathing too steady. He wasn’t able to sleep, and it became more and more apparent every day. There were perpetual shadows under his eyes and he moved like his feet were encased in cinderblocks. He didn’t eat much, and more often than not he was in the library reading John Winchester’s old journal and, where that failed him, the many books that lined the shelves.

 

The first hunt that came up since his fall had Dean reluctant to leave. “I don’t think we should leave him alone,” he said quietly to Sam.

 

“It sounds pretty bad,” Sam responded. “You know Maxwell, he works alone as much as he can. He’s gotta be desperate to call for help.” He glanced toward the library where they knew Cas would be sitting. “Look, Dean, he can handle himself. He’s done it before, and it’ll only be for, what, a week? Tops?”

 

“Then let’s call Charlie,” Dean insisted. “She’s been wanting to meet him anyways. She could—she might be able to help him.

 

Sam nodded. “I’ll give her a call. Hopefully she’s in the area. We need to get going soon.” He turned away and pulled his cell out, so Dean walked into the library.

 

Cas was curled like a cat in one of the armchairs, book propped on his knees and a laptop on the little desk next to him. “Maxwell may be dealing with a rusalka,” he said without looking up. “It’s an old legend, originating in Poland, and it would explain all of the unusual drownings in the area. It likes water and its kiss is deadly. Usually it takes the form of a young woman. All of the victims have been male?”  


“That’s what Maxwell said,” Dean confirmed. “Look, Cas, we’re calling Charlie in to come stay here with you.” There was no use in lying or trying to make it sound like it wasn’t exactly what it was. “It’ll make me feel better if you aren’t left alone.”

 

“I won’t hurt myself, Dean.” Cas stood up, and if it weren’t for the way he swayed with exhaustion, he would have looked like Castiel again. “I promise, I will not leave you and Sam.”

 

Dean grasped his shoulder. “I know, I just…I don’t want you to be alone right now. I’m worried about you, man, you can’t sleep and it’s still so new, okay? It’s more for my benefit, really.”

 

Cas nodded solemnly. “I understand, Dean. Thank you.” His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile, and then he turned back to the book. “I’ll call if I find anything else.”

 

Sam came in. “Charlie’s on her way up,” he announced. “I’m going to grab one of everything, just in case.”  


“Cas thinks it’s a rusalka,” Dean told him. “The water, the drowning, the men dying, it lines up. No wonder Maxwell is having trouble with it.” He squeezed Cas’ shoulder one more time before stepping away. “We’ll check in when we get there.”

 

“Goodbye, Dean.”

 

“See you soon,” Sam said.

 

Dean ignored the twist in his gut as they drove away. _Charlie can take care of him._ He tried not to think about the fact that he would rather stay with Cas himself.

 

 

 

 

Cas was right.

 

“She will only die if she’s burned from the inside out,” Cas’ tinny voice said over the phone. “A creature born of water can’t die in it. You’ll need to lure her out somehow.”

 

“Thanks buddy,” Dean said, phone tucked between his shoulder and ear. “How’s it going with Charlie?”

 

“She is insisting that we watch as much of Game of Thrones as is possible before you return.” Cas sounded confused. “It is…compelling.”

 

“Don’t let her show you anything me and Sam haven’t seen yet,” Dean gritted out through his teeth, arms clenched around Maxwell’s chest as he dragged him away from the shower. “We should be home in a few days max. Maybe she can stick around for a few and we can all watch some together.”

 

“I would like that. Be careful, Dean.”

 

“I always am, Cas.” The chuckle he got in response made him smile despite how Maxwell was now trying to shove him into a wall. The phone clicked off (because Cas still hadn’t mastered the idea of saying goodbye over the phone) and Dean finally wrestled Maxwell to the ground. “I will tie you to a chair if you don’t calm the hell down,” he threatened. “Seriously, Max, why would you go to the pretty girl in the river?”

 

“She looked lost,” Maxwell grunted, then paused. “Actually, that chair probably wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

 

For good measure, Dean handcuffed his ankles to the chair and one of Maxwell’s wrists to an old metal pipe sticking out of the wall (old motels really were the best for things like this). “I’m going to go help Sam. Need anything before I go?”

 

“Some water would be nice,” Maxwell grumped.

 

Dean left without a word.

 

 

 

 

It was three in the morning by the time they got back to the bunker. Sam had been sleeping for the last few hours, head lolled against the window, snuffling softly in his sleep. They stumbled in, barely locking up before shuffling off to their respective rooms. The door to Charlie’s claimed room was shut, and Dean’s own was…he was pretty sure he had left it closed. He nudged it open the rest of the way and stopped dead.

 

Cas was curled up under his blanket, head nestled on the pillow that usually went unused on the left side of the bed furthest from the door, sound asleep. His face was smushed a little where he had shoved it into the pillow and he had both hands shoved under it. His eyelids fluttered every few seconds, legs twitching under the blanket, and Dean knew that he couldn’t wake him up. Cas looked more relaxed than he had in weeks.

 

Dean changed into an old t-shirt and sweatpants as quietly as he could before lifting the covers and slipping under them. The bed was big enough that he had plenty of space to stretch out on his stomach without touching the other man ( _man,_ he remembered), so he did, but turned his head so he could look at Cas. He hadn’t stirred at all the whole time, so Dean felt that it was safe to stare. He didn’t think that the lines where Cas’ eyebrows furrowed together had ever been smooth like this, had never seen his mouth slack, barely open. Something in Dean broke a little at the sight, and he smoothed a hand through Cas’ thick hair before closing his own eyes and falling asleep.

 

 

 

 

Cas was gone when he woke up, and Dean wondered for a moment if he’d dreamed him there in the first place. But no, the pillowcase was creased from use and the blankets were tangled at the bottom like Cas had had to wrestle his way out to avoid waking Dean. He smiled without really knowing why and set about getting dressed.

 

Sam was eating breakfast with Charlie when he came into the kitchen, the latter of which handed him a cup of coffee. “Do you think rusalkas would go after lesbians?” she asked as he sat down.

 

“Good morning, Charlie,” Dean said.

 

“There aren’t records of women ever going missing when a rusalka has been seen.” Cas came in with another book and a mug that Dean suspected had held coffee, hardly watching where he was going. Dean caught his wrist before he walked straight into the corner of the table and the book closed with a snap as Cas jerked in surprise. Dean smirked at him and Cas cleared his throat. “But, uh, that doesn’t mean it’s never happened before. I can’t seem to find any information before the late seventeenth century. I take it that the hunt went well?”

 

“Mostly,” Dean told him, letting him go now that he wasn’t in danger of hip-checking the table. “Of course, Maxwell had to kiss it because he’s a complete idiot, but I managed to keep him from drowning himself in his shower. Sam killed the thing before I even got there. Bastard, keeping me from shoving a torch down its throat.”

 

“Careful Dean, people might think you _like_ killing monsters,” Sam muttered.

 

“How’d everything go here?” Dean said instead of going through the trouble of making up a retort.

 

“I got Cas pretty hooked on Game of Thrones,” Charlie said proudly. “And now he knows how to make cookies. I’d say we had a pretty good week.” She shot a grin at Cas, who smiled back a little awkwardly.

 

No one was mentioning Cas coming out of Dean’s room that morning, which meant that they didn’t know or didn’t care. Dean was hoping for the former, but after breakfast Charlie pulled him aside discreetly, and he knew what was coming. “Thought you should know, Cas was sleeping in your room the last couple nights,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t think he was really sleeping at all before then though.”

 

“Yeah, I found him last night,” Dean told her. “He hasn’t really slept since he was cast out.” He glanced toward the door that Cas and Sam had disappeared through. “He seems a bit better this morning. How was he this week?”

 

“Very focused on research,” Charlie admitted. “He seemed scared that he was useless.”

 

Dean frowned. “He said that?”

 

“No, but I know the signs.” Charlie smiled a little sadly. “You should teach him some combat. Maybe not guns yet, but hand to hand, blade work? A little bit of magic couldn’t hurt either. It can’t hurt for him to be able to defend himself. And it’ll be better from you. He knows a lot, but he’s not…he’s human now. He can’t do things to the capacity that he could before.”

 

“It’s been awhile since I had to teach anyone to do anything like that,” Dean said doubtfully.

 

“Then have Sam teach him.” Charlie shrugged. “He just seems to be a bit closer to you, you know?”

 

“You’ve known him for all of a week, how do you possibly know all this?”

 

“Intuition, my dear Winchester—” she winked “—is a girl’s best friend.”

 

He took Charlie’s advice and tentatively asked Cas after lunch if he’d be comfortable sparring with him. “It’s a good way to gauge your strength,” he offered, trying so hard not to say anything that would remind Cas that he wasn’t an angel anymore.

 

He knew he failed miserably, but Cas nodded and put his latest book aside to follow Dean to the little gym off the shooting range. Dean wrapped his own knuckles and then turned to help Cas, who already had it done. Dean raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been coming down here when I can’t sleep,” Cas explained. He rolled his neck and brought his hands up, sliding smoothly into position.

 

Dean learned very quickly that Cas had a nasty right hook.

 

Actually, he had learned that a long time ago, when he first planned on saying yes and letting Michael use his body to destroy the world. But he’d forgotten how hard Cas could hit even at his weakest, and Dean thought he should probably reevaluate what weak actually meant, because this hurt.

 

He staggered into the wall, raising his arms to block another punch from Cas and sweeping a leg out as Cas got too close. He had a moment to feel triumphant as Cas crashed to the ground before the former angel hooked an ankle around Dean’s and pulled him down too. They wrestled on the floor before Dean surged up and pinned Cas down with his knees on the other’s wrists, sitting on his chest. The whole exchange hadn’t lasted more than a minute, but they were both panting, and Dean’s dick was close enough to Cas’ face that he could feel him breathing. Getting it up right now would not be beneficial to their friendship.

 

“I see that beating the ever loving crap out of me hasn’t lost its appeal for you,” he commented once he was sitting next to Cas rather than on top of him.

 

“I have fought you before, Dean,” Cas said, mouth twitching at the corners. “And I have watched you fight. I know the way you move.” Dean bit down on his tongue to stop himself from saying something along the lines of how Cas really had no idea just how he could move, but Cas was still talking. “And I know how to fight angels. In their human vessels, they are limited to the body they have. They can exert much more strength than you could, but they can’t _move._ Anything in a human vessel is limited to the flexibility of that vessel.”

 

“So you’re saying that I’m not as good as an angel?” Dean tried not to sound too offended.

 

“No, Dean,” Cas sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. “I’m saying that I am not as helpless as you may think.”

 

“I’ve never thought of you as helpless,” Dean protested.

 

“You once referred to me as a ‘baby in a trenchcoat,’” Cas recalled.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “I was in a bad mood that day.”

 

Cas grinned. “Right.”

 

“Okay, smartass, let’s go again then.” He heaved himself to his feet and pulled Cas up by the hand, and promptly socked him in the stomach. Cas laughed breathlessly and Dean had a second to feel his heart leap into his throat before he was being driven relentlessly back into the wall.

 

Dean hurt everywhere by the time he and Cas called it quits, and he was sure he looked worse than he felt. It was confirmed when he came upstairs and Sam couldn’t hide a grin. “Dude, you’re only supposed to let the monsters beat you up.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Cas used to be an angel. That totally counts. And I got some hits in too.” He had. Cas had a black eye and split lip, and was holding his arms around his chest like he was having difficulty breathing in deeply. But he was smiling like he had just had the time of his life. Dean was pretty proud of himself for putting that look on his face.

 

Sam was looking between the two of them with a soft expression. He didn’t say a word, but Dean knew exactly what that look meant, and frankly he didn’t think Cas was ready for that yet. You’re _not ready for that yet._ He ignored the thought. One night sharing a bed and suddenly all of his repressed feelings about his best friend were coming to the surface.

 

“Where’s Charlie?” he said instead of commenting on Sam’s tiny smile. “We should watch some Game of Thrones.” The sentiment was echoed enthusiastically by everyone present, and they sought Charlie out in her room.

 

“Not until you and Cas both shower,” she said immediately.

 

Cas…in the shower.

 

Dean was going back to Hell.

 

 

 

 

The next few nights passed without any sharing of Dean’s bed, but he also noticed that Cas wasn’t sleeping again. He went to bed later than the Winchester brothers and was awake by the time they stumbled out of their respective rooms. Sam took it upon himself one night to make them all tea before bed in the hope that it might help, and sure enough, Cas fell asleep in the middle of researching before Dean retired to his room. He felt something unclench in his stomach.

 

When he woke up in the middle of the night desperately needing to pee—“Dammit, Sammy”—he found Cas with the lamp on again, reading through the book he had had before. “Why are you up?” he asked, confused and still half-asleep.

 

“I had a rather unsettling dream,” Cas admitted. “I’d rather do something of use instead.”

 

“Sleeping is useful,” Dean said. “And it wasn’t real, whatever it was.”

 

“Making Raphael explode was pretty real at the time, Dean,” Cas said flatly. It was so out of character that Dean flinched like he’d been slapped. Cas noticed and sighed. “I’m fine, Dean. Sorry I woke you.”

 

It took Dean all of a few seconds to make up his mind. “C’mon buddy,” he murmured, heaving Cas up and out of the chair. He wrapped an arm around the other’s shoulders and shuffled back to the hallway where the bedrooms were to Dean’s own half-open door. “Let’s get some sleep,” he continued, gently pushing Cas inside and shutting the door behind him.

 

“Dean, I can’t—”

 

“Dude, it’s okay.” Dean chuckled softly. “The bed’s big enough. I don’t mind.” When Cas continued to stand stock still in the middle of the room, he tugged on his wrist. “Come _on._ You can change into some of my old sweats.” He pushed said sweatpants into Cas’ chest and turned to get into bed. A long minute passed before the other side of the bed dipped under the weight of another body settling in and there was a slight pull on the blankets as Cas shifted. Dean rolled over to find him on the very edge of the bed, lying stiffly on his back. “Relax,” he yawned, reaching out to pull Cas closer so that he wasn’t at risk of falling off. He left his hand between them and watched Cas roll onto his side as well, bringing his hands up under the pillow and blinking at Dean in the dark. Dean raised an eyebrow and slowly Cas’ eyes closed. His breathing evened out a few minutes later, and Dean let himself sleep too.

 

 

 

 

Cas was trying to get out of bed as quietly as possible the next time Dean woke up. “Nuh uh,” he muttered without even opening his eyes. “You haven’t slept long enough.”

 

“Dean, it’s morning.”

 

Dean cast about blindly until he found what felt like a shirt, and then pulled until Cas gave in and laid back down. He tugged the blanket up to Cas’ chin (or he thought he did; he felt the scruff). For good measure, he scooted closer and hooked an ankle around Cas’ so he couldn’t leave. “If it’s been less than five hours, you haven’t slept enough.” When Cas was suspiciously quiet, he opened one eye to peek at the clock on the other table. “And if it’s earlier than eight thirty in the morning, you definitely haven’t slept enough.” It had been less _four_ hours and it was only _seven_. Unacceptable.

 

He felt Cas relax bit by bit into the bed until his arm fell slightly and brushed against Dean’s where it lay between them. When Dean opened his eyes again, Cas’ were closed, his head tilted so Dean could see the curve of his jaw where it was set in wakefulness. Dean shifted so that his arm pressed more solidly to the other’s and took note of how Cas melted into the pillow at such a simple touch.

 

 

 

 

Sam took it upon himself to teach Cas how to shoot several different types of guns the next morning, tactfully neglecting to mention that when he came to wake Dean up at ten in the morning, Cas was tucked up against his side in a ball, nose pressed to Dean’s shoulder. Only when Cas shuffled off to shower, red in the face, that Sam shot a shit-eating grin at Dean. In response, he flipped him off and refused to make Sam any pancakes.

 

But it quickly became a thing that Dean couldn’t seem to shake. If he woke up at any point in the night and Cas wasn’t asleep, he pulled him away from wherever he was, be it library or kitchen or even his own bed, to come sleep with Dean. It never took more than a few minutes for Cas to fall asleep once he was wrapped up in Dean’s covers, and eventually he stopped trying to leave before Dean woke up too. Finally, almost four months after he Fell, Cas just followed Dean into his room. When Dean raised a questioning eyebrow, he shrugged in resignation as if to say, “We both know how this ends.” Dean didn’t bother hiding his grin, and didn’t wake up once that whole night.

 

Sam’s ridiculous grins slowly became softer, more affectionate, and he never said anything even when Cas started going to Dean’s room before he did. The first hunt that they took Cas on, he didn’t bat an eye when Dean and Cas took one of the beds without any discussion. This was all good, Dean thought. He slept better, Cas slept better, it was a good arrangement. So what if he liked watching Cas sleep at night? It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t have to.

 

But it did. Because that first hunt forced Dean to remember that Cas wasn’t an angel anymore, wasn’t Castiel, wasn’t an all-powerful being who healed himself in the blink of an eye. He was Cas, a man who still had incredible strength and reflexes, but was still just a man at the end of the day. Human, who could be hurt, and who had a long cut over his left eyebrow where a werewolf had slashed at his throat and missed. Dean lost it at that, had the werewolf on the ground and a bullet between its eyes in only a few seconds. He was seeing red, or maybe that was the blood dripping into Cas’ eye. Maybe he was seeing what Cas was seeing now, except that that wasn’t actually possible because _Cas wasn’t an angel._

 

“Dean, I’m fine, I’m okay,” he heard someone saying as if from far away. A hand was on his shoulder, slowly pulling him away from the broken body of the werewolf, and he had never felt so terrified for another person before, unless that person was Sam. Who was dragging the body away, and so it must have been Cas who was pulling him to his feet and grabbing him by his arms, tilting his head to the side, brushing him off like that would get rid of the fear. “Dean, it’s only a scratch, you need to calm down, you need to breathe.” Dean reached out blindly and found Cas’ waist, and reeled him closer so he could brush his thumb over his eyebrow and collect the pooling blood there. “It’s just a scratch,” Cas said softly, and Dean’s vision blurred.  


“There might still be others,” Sam said as he came back. His eyes were bright with concern, but Dean was focusing on getting his heartbeat back under control, swallowing down panic. “We should—we should check the den before we go, just in case.” He touched Dean’s shoulder uncertainly. “Dean?”

 

“You’re right,” he said hoarsely, dropping his hand and staring at the blood staining his thumb. _Cas’ blood._ “Let’s—let’s go.”

 

The adrenalin rush ended after killing the remaining two werewolves, leaving Dean’s eyes barely open. Sam drove them back to the motel and quietly left after changing out of his blood-stained clothes, leaving Dean and Cas alone. Dean let Cas shower first, and then he made him lean up against the sink while he carefully cleaned away any remaining blood and rubbed ointment over the cut, which wasn’t as deep as he’d feared. Cas stood still and let Dean take care of him, saying a soft thank you when Dean finished. “I kind of owe you,” Dean responded just as quietly. “You’ve taken care of me and Sam for years.” He didn’t move back just yet, taking in the blue of Castiel’s eyes. Even human, they were still the brightest blue he had ever seen. They still made him feel like Cas could see straight into his soul and past it, and then he remembered that Cas knew what his soul looked like without having to peer inside him. He had put him back together once. More than once.

 

“You should clean up,” Cas told him, looking away. “Sam will be back soon.” He moved past Dean, leaving him alone and aching for something that made it hard to breathe.

 

 

 

 

The cut faded into a silvery line that almost blended in with Cas’ eyebrow, and would have if Dean didn’t have its location written permanently in his head.

 

It wasn’t the last scar that Cas got. Over the next few months, he because littered with nearly as many lines as Dean and Sam had, even after having their bodies rebuilt more than once. The bottom of his feet became calloused because, for whatever reason, he shucked off his shoes when they entered a decrepit building in order to remain silent. His side was ripped open by the claws of a Wendigo one night before he shoved a flamethrower down its throat. But it was that first scar, the one that healed to practically nothing, that Dean couldn’t get out of his head. At night, when Cas was asleep and he was lying awake, he traced it with his thumb until his throat closed up and he had to roll over and force himself to breathe instead.

 

But it wasn’t just the new landmarks all over Castiel’s body. Dean had been watching Cas for years, at first from the fascination and suspicion of his status as an angel, and then later because Cas was the first person he could ever really call a friend. Cas betrayed them, and they betrayed Cas, and Cas still came back after everything, chose to leave his home and become human to stay with them, with Dean. No, he had been looking at Cas for a very long time, and Cas had been looking back.

 

“Can I ask you a question?” Sam said one afternoon, when there was snow falling outside the bunker and Cas had gone to get groceries.

 

“Maybe,” Dean said gruffly. He didn’t turn away from the ancient spell book he was reading.

 

“Just…be honest with me, okay?” Sam paused, then went on hesitantly. “Are you and Cas together?”

 

Dean carefully marked his page and set the book down on the table before turning to face his brother. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Because I don’t want to assume the wrong thing,” Sam said honestly.

 

Dean nodded slowly. “Well, we’re not.”

 

Sam bit his lip. “Do you want to be?”

 

“Would it bother you if I did?”

 

“No.”

  
“Then yes.” Dean didn’t even think about lying. He didn’t think he had the strength to do so.

 

“So why aren’t you?”

 

Dean had to stop and think about that, because he honestly didn’t have the answer. He wanted that with Cas. They already shared a bed every night, they already reached out and touched each other without thinking about it, they already looked at each other for too long. What was stopping him from just closing that last distance between them?

 

“He’s the best friend I’ve ever had,” Dean said finally, echoing the words Bobby had said to him after the Leviathans got out of Purgatory. “I don’t want...I don’t want to ruin that.” He took a deep breath. “We’ve lost so many people, Sam. I can’t lose him too.”

 

“You could lose him anyways,” Sam reminded him. “What with our life, that’s always going to be a possibility.”

 

“I’m good with this.” And he was, Dean thought. He liked waking up in the mornings and seeing Cas next to him, mouth slack with sleep and the furrow of his brow smoothed out. He liked teaching him how to fight, liked sitting quietly in the library with him while they researched, liked introducing him to all of the modern-day culture that they hadn’t had time to teach him about before. “I don’t need anything else.”

 

“It isn’t about need,” Sam said softly. “It’s about want.”

 

The front door to the bunker slammed shut right then, and Dean turned away.

 

 

 

 

“You’re an idiot,” Cas snapped at him, and it had been a long time since Cas had gotten angry at Dean. It would be startling if Dean wasn’t currently blinking blood out of his eye and trying to figure out how damaged his ankle was without actually putting any weight on it. He’d twisted it when he’d launched himself at the vampire that was trying to take a chunk out of Cas’ neck and cracked his head against a tree in the process of hauling the vampire away. Sam sliced its head clean off its shoulders then, and then Cas was pulling Dean to his feet and calling him everything under the sun, helping him to the car and then into the bunker when they got back (it was nice when monsters were close to home.)

 

“I don’t call you names when you’re hurt,” Dean said accusingly.

 

“No, you just spend hours staring at me and blaming yourself for it,” Cas retorted. His tone was harsh, but he was gentle as he carefully pulled Dean’s shirt up and over his head. Dean’s head was spinning with the touch and he briefly wondered whether it was the knock to the head or just Cas. “Can you stand at all?” Cas questioned, jerking him away from Cas’ hand on his chest.

 

“With help, yeah.”

 

Cas rolled his eyes. “Do you object to a bath?”

  
“I’m not a seven-year-old girl, I _have_ to protest.” But he gestured for Cas to turn the water on and get it started, and tried not to think about how it was big enough for two people. Or maybe that was exactly what he should be thinking about, because Cas was removing his own shirt and kneeling to carefully pull of Dean’s shoes. He worked at the button of his jeans and then Cas looked away to start the water, carefully not watching.

 

“If you need anything, give me a call,” he said quietly.

 

Dean reached out and grabbed his wrist as he turned to leave. “Cas.” Cas stopped, but he kept his eyes cast away, like it hurt to look. “I need help getting into the bath,” he told him softly. When the other nodded, he let go and continued to wrestle his way out of his pants until Cas lifted him up enough for him to shuck them off. Cas didn’t look at him again until he was more or less settled in the tub, the pain of his ankle harder to distinguish with the heat of the water. Dean stopped him from leaving again with a cautious touch to Cas’ still-bare side.

 

“Dean…”

 

“Please.”

 

All it had ever taken was please with Castiel.

 

He sat on the edge of the tub, close enough for Dean to curl his hand all the way around his hip and keep it there. Fingers smoothed across his hair and he leaned into it, until he felt water being poured gently and he had to close his eyes. “Is this okay?” Cas murmured.

 

“Yeah.” The heaviness in his head and the proximity to Cas was making him brave, able to press into Cas’ touch without hesitation. He was forgetting all the reasons that he shouldn’t do this. And if the way Cas was leaning closer and brushing the hair back from Dean’s forehead, he was forgetting too. When fingers brushed over his neck, a bolt of heat ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the hot water. Without stopping to think, he turned his head and kissed Cas’ hand.

 

Dean felt the shudder that ran through the other man’s body and the way that Cas’ other hand tightened in his hair where he was scrubbing shampoo. Slowly he resumed stroking through Dean’s hair, but he was far more deliberate, scratching his nails across Dean’s scalp and fluttering touches over his jaw. It made Dean ache with longing and something he had felt with Lisa that might have been love, and with that thought he tilted his head and leaned up until their lips were just a breath apart. “Cas,” he whispered.

 

Castiel whined low in his throat. “Dean, you have a concussion, you aren’t thinking straight.” His mouth brushed Dean’s with every word. He left streaks of white behind where he kept touching Dean’s skin.

 

“You’ve been sleeping in my bed for months, Cas.” Dean laughed brokenly.

 

“I’m _human.”_ His eyes were still so blue.

 

Dean breathed in. “If you don’t want this, tell me.” Cas’ hands clenched against his skin like the words hurt him, and closed the gap.

 

 

 

 


End file.
